


Crystal Clear

by dee_thequeenbee



Series: Iridescence Verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Year (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dee_thequeenbee/pseuds/dee_thequeenbee
Summary: sixth entry for the OQ prompt party, saturday.178. regina cares for a sick robin during the missing year.110. robin or regina almost freeze to death and the other one finds them.102. bedsharing.





	Crystal Clear

“Your Majesty, I…”

“Shut up and walk, John. I don’t wish to discuss about it any further.”

She huffs, the Queen, a hand on her hip as she steadies herself. Her hand slides against her mare’s strong muscles, its warmth and presence alone is enough to calm her, to make her feel like what’s happened can actually be fixed, that just because she is used to it, she’s not doomed to lose _everyone_ she cares about. Still. Her breath comes out in ragged pants, as John follows in tow, his steps surprisingly swift and less noisy than hers.

The arrow glimmers mid-air, pointing north, still north, snow flurrying around them. They’re going to lose the path, if they don’t get moving. She considered enchanting the horse or herself, but then, she’s just recovering from a quite serious illness and she didn’t think she could lift someone by herself, let alone apparate with them. Hence why she’s had to bring John along.

“So damn stupid,” she mutters, her fingers clenching in her gloves. “So damn stubborn, and idiotic…”

“I really do hope it’s not me you’re complaining about, your Majesty,” John tells her cheerfully. “He’s gonna be alright, you know. He’s a tough one, that one.”

“I… he’ll better be,” she says haughtily. It’s not like John hasn’t guessed, anyway. That she did not fight with Snow to exit herself in the almost-blizzard _just_ because she has an absolute distrust for the Merry Men’s capacity to _actually_ bring their leader back home, when left on their own. That there has to be the slightest string of care, down there, and Regina is only lying to herself if she doesn’t admit it. “We’re almost there,” she murmurs, maybe lost in the wind, but the magic is straightening around the edges, becoming pointy and decided as the arrow accelerates and falls down nearby a tree.

She leaves the reins to John, and takes the remaining steps, sprinting in a clumsy run. When she crouches down, her fur-lined cloak almost covers half of his body, as big as it is, but she can’t find in herself to care. Her hand goes to his cheek – pale, almost blue, and so cold. “Robin,” she whispers. “Robin, wake up.”

He’s unresponsive. Her gloved hands cup his cheeks now, and she’s acutely aware of John’s presence beside her. “Wake _up_ ,” she orders, stings of warm rage at the corners of her eyes. “You _have_ to. I’m _not_ going to have to explain about this to your son.”

The smallest twitch of his eyelids is proof enough, and Regina curls her hand around his wrist to feel his heartbeat – it’s faint, but it’s there. “Bring the horse here,” she tells John, without lifting her eyes. “This is worse than I’d imagined. We have to bring him inside at once.”

Low hinnies and noises reach her ears, but it’s like she’s in a bubble. A bubble where there’s only him, and her, and his stupid, stupid cold skin and low breaths. Regina moves her fingers slowly, in a dance of little movements she’s perfected during the years, and a little blue flame springs out her fingertips and flies to Robin, slides under his shirt – it will warm him, without burning. The magic weakens her, she wills away the sudden dizziness with a shake of her head. Snow’s voice still rings in her ears, annoyingly pitched, _You’re not well, Regina, I can’t believe you’re considering this_ , and Granny reiterating from her corner, _She’s right, girl, you must be insane_. But she had to go – besides Doc , Tuck and the old wolf, she’s the only one around who has some notions of healing and first aid, the only one who knows magic, so she went, _I will not watch another child become an orphan, Snow, Roland deserves the same protection any child would get_.

So she went, and now John is jostling her up, she hasn’t even noticed him as he lifted Robin to the horse and secured him to the harness, covered him with a spare cape they’d brought. “Come on, your Majesty, get up,” he says to her ear. The snow has increased, now, “yes, that’s it, hold on to me,” and the walk back begins. The cold penetrates under her cloak, her clothes, the hunting attire she’s chosen is practical but not ideal, her boots thump and slash the fresh snow.

The castle is not far, by any means, Robin himself was not far, he was almost there, but almost isn’t enough. Snow’s voice again, suppressing a snicker, _You placed a spell on him to ensure he was safe? You’re going soft_ , a snicker soon muted by her best evil glare – and maybe Snow’s smile has fallen a tad too quickly, but Regina is _not_ going soft, she just doesn’t want that child to be alone in this world, doesn’t want another parent to abandon their child, is that really something one should laugh and poke about?

“Almost there,” John says, but now she’s feeling stronger – the promise of shelter giving her the energy she needed for the last steps, and there’s people waiting at the gate. Maybe she won’t stroll in barking orders, but she feels alright enough not to hold on to John anymore. Follows in, confident, that she can save him and then, possibly, punch his nose for getting in harm’s way.

.

They settle him downstairs, in a warm room near the kitchens, and she commands everyone out before she has to start tending to him. “Make sure you take care of yourself as well, girl,” Granny tells her, squeezing her arm – their eyes meet, the wolf means business and she’s not fooling around. She means it – and she wasn’t going to, Regina, would have tended to him and probably collapsed on her cold bed, her wet cloak still on. But she’s not of any use like this. If she passes out for exhaustion, there’ll be no one skilled enough to look at his illness, and all of this will be for nothing.

“I will,” she whispers into a promise, to which Granny leaves her arm and says she’ll send in warm food shortly.

The door shuts, and they’re alone.

There are blankets, and a fire roaring in the hearth. She works quickly on herself – her cape disappears along with her wet clothes, switched for a warm set of trousers and a wool blouse. Her hair is humid, damp with melted snow, so she ties it into a braided bun, telling herself she’ll see to that in a minute.

But her magic is fading too fast, and shit. She’ll be no use to the thief if she’s useless like this. Her hand goes inside his pocket, where she knows she’ll find a flask of firewhisky. She chugs it down, almost half of it, her head spins for a moment but the effect are immediate: a flame burning her veins and warming her insides, pleasant, it will do for now. Her hand goes to lift Robin’s head, with the muscle memory she still has from her son’s days as a toddler, and pours some whisky inside his parted lips.

He doesn’t move, but breathes more easily, and that’s good. This, and the still-burning fireflame she’s nestled next to his heart will do the trick. Hopefully.

Now, she has to free him from his wet clothes. Regina sighs, looks at him. The heat in the room is scalding, now, but it’s not enough. He still shivers, tiny hiccups of labored breaths marring the natural rhythm of his chest, and her heart aches. Why, she ignores. It’s not – this situation, it shouldn’t have happened, because she doesn’t actually care for him. Until now, she has purely worked under the impulse of healing magic. That need to do something in front of a pained being, some remnants of her ancient days as an apprentice, still glistening of the black of an unicorn and a pulsing heart in her hand.

She sits on the bed, carefully. The work she’s about to face is going to be long and difficult, and deep down she knows she’s wasting the little time she’s left, but this – a moment, a glimpse at him as he’s unguarded and his blue eyes are not reading her soul, she wanted this. Her fingers start on the buttons of his shirt. Damp and patched of melted ice, it has glued to his skin. She frees his collarbone and traces the lines of his jaw – it’s so… weird, and intimate, that her hand trembles and she shakes her head. She’s not supposed to do this. She’s to be a doctor, not some lovesick schmaltzy excuse of a nurse.

A knock at the door startles her.

Regina lifts up, guilty, as if she’s been burned, flies to open the door.

“How is he?” Granny asks, her hand strong around the handles of a tray.

“Oh, he’s… better. I think. I’m working on it,” she answers, kind, much kinder than she’d normally be – prays the shadows from the fireplace will hide the pink growing in her cheeks.

“Good. See that he’s hydrated. And for goodness’s sake, eat _something_.”

Granny leaves before she can answer, leaves her there with the tray, watching the old wolf limp away. “Thank you,” she murmurs, maybe uselessly, maybe she’s been heard.

.

When she has Robin in nothing but his shirt, she’s worked out a sweat.

She hasn’t looked at him. Has worked to pull and push away wet clothes, has reached out for his boots and trousers. He was wearing too little. Her brow furrows, the little flame next to his heart pulsing more weakly now, the same rhythm as her heartbeat. She sighs, and extends a hand to retreat it. The spell has to be more effective. The gentle, meaningless healing ball of light isn’t enough, the flame from burned wood isn’t enough.

Regina reaches out for more blankets, drapes them above him before she can start removing his shirt. It’s white – it was white, now it’s grey and patched, so she slides a hand under his back and lifts, his weight almost crushing her, pulling on the sleeves, telling herself she should have just ripped the shirt of and mended it later. He lies back down, slowly, she takes a moment, just a glance, to admire a well-toned body before she covers him.

And of course, later she’ll reason that maybe fate intended this moment to be just _hers_ – a moment when he’s unconscious and can’t witness the look in her eyes at his bare forearm, the startled yelp she lets out, the way she clasps her hand against her mouth and her eyes fill with tears.

Her breaths are slow, her eyes blinking in the low light, as she looks and looks at his forearm as if enough looking could change the image – the lines are marred in her teary eyes, the black of the ink mocks her from the emblazoned symbol.

_It’s you_ , she murmurs, so low, dread in her heart, because how fitting it is that losing her son would bring her to find who would have been her soulmate – in happier, more uncertain times, long hair and braids, horses and a still bleeding pure heart, and her nightgown splashed of blood more often than not.

Her finger traces the lion engraved in his skin, it is unmistakable that she found him, what a novelty, what a cruel joke that she had to be heartbroken and almost killed a thousand times and he had to lose his wife and raise his son alone for them to be here, right now, in this exact moment where their stars are aligned for a split second of peace. She loses herself in thoughts, of herself going into that tavern and – being _brave_ , for once, she has always been brave, but every single time, it was for the wrong causes.

When he coughs, loudly, wetly, she snaps back to reality. He’s still _freezing_ _to death_.

And she let herself daydream over a lost past, like the stupid girl that didn’t know better, like the queen of nothing who always lets her happy endings slip through her fingers. Not that he could be – he’s _not_ …

“Okay, okay,” she tells him, rushed, even though he can’t really hear. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

She’d be caught dead before letting him hear those words, but tonight she doesn’t care. With the utmost care, she climbs into the bed next to him, on the other side, kneels next to him and calls to her magic. It’s there, but it’s – difficult, like a clock with its mechanism slowed down, rusty, it does not flow like the usual current of thunders and smoke. _Come on_ , she mutters, her hands facing up, her lungs inflating and deflating as a cough seizes her. She curls up above his body, wrecked with the power of the dust in her lungs, and, she can’t believe her own thoughts, maybe Snow was right and she shouldn’t have gone outside with this snowstorm brewing. _Shit_ , she spits out.

His breathing has slowed down. Her fingers feel cold against his skin and at this point she doesn’t know if it’s him, her, both, her hands fists, both freezing because she was weak, and couldn’t save them. One intake of breath, she has a minute to slow down, one minute, it can’t be that minute that changes anything for him. “Hold on,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. Because she doesn’t know what to do. It’s annoying and even terrifying, but she doesn’t _know_.

Wait.

Maybe she shouldn’t be trying to _heal_ him.

Maybe there is another way… a way she hadn’t considered.

She decides in an instant, it’s the only way, her hands placed down on his chest. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she tells him, shakily, another cough taking the best of her. Power filters through now, now that she’s caught on the right way to save him, power is cold and white, a fog of ice surrounds her hands as she doesn’t really heal, but rather inhales the cold, preserves his lungs, warms his insides and takes the ice inside.

It hurts.

It goes through her like a poisoned dagger, burns like silver fire and runs through her veins and she cries, but doesn’t let go until it’s done, until he’s warm again so – so he’s safe, and she won’t have another death on her list, all because she was too stupid to let go of an argument, so his son will be raised with one of his parents…

When her hands stop glowing, she breathes out, and falls next to him. _It’s alright_ , she thinks, smiling in the start of her daze, _it’s alright, I have a fire in me… I’ll be alright_ …

.

When she wakes, she’s warm. It’s pleasant – lovely, even.

_I guess I died_ , she thinks, smiles to herself, burrowing further against the source of the warmth. _Maybe I’m with Daniel now. I won’t open my eyes. It’s a dream – it’s real, or I went away, away for good…_

“Welcome back,” a voice says, amused, from up above. _Mmm_ , she answers, maybe the voice will go away if she ignores it strong enough. Flames dance against her eyelids, something pushes against her mind, _Regina? Regina, open your eyes_.

“Are you alright, milady?”

It shifts back to focus, when she hears that word. _Shit_. Her eyes slam open and her breath catches, _shit_ , her head turns to blue eyes and a soft smile, when she notices the way her arm is draped above his chest, feels his arm around her shoulder, and _oh_. Oh.

She rushes to free herself, actually so fast her head spins, but he gently tightens his hold. “Easy,” he murmurs. “You passed out on me, I don’t think you should be up so quickly.”

“What happened?”

It comes out more weakly than she’d intended to, and suddenly she is hyper aware of… everything, his body against hers, his warmth, he’s warm, relief fills her with a sudden wave and her hand curls some more around his hip, before she remembers, her cheeks redden and her gaze falls.

“I woke up here,” he says simply, “the last thing I remember was being lost in the forest, and then…”

“And then?”

He hesitates, but doesn’t tell her. “And… I woke up here, all warmed up – almost too much, in fact, that I would have sworn it could have been my lucky star, or my fairy godmother, or… you.”

“How flattering,” she murmurs. He’s still holding her. She is staying, purely because of the warmth he provides, there are no second ends to this. They’re ignoring their closeness, it seems – _purely_ on safety instincts, they’ve both slept outside in the cold during their lives, and this is the quickest way not to lose body heath. Right? It is. Just that.

“I should be mad you used magic on me.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Now she loses it, her limbs protesting almost violently when the lack of his body sends shivers to hers, but she goes up and stares at him. “I risked my magic, my sanity, my horse, my _life_! to come and rescue your stupid ungrateful ass, and you say you should be _mad_?”

“Regina, I don’t mean I am mad,” he takes her hand, she wonders if he could hear the blood thumping, the way her heart took a faster pace when she’s thought _He’s my soulmate_ , what a weird word, what a strange fate, for him to be – “I mean I would have been, once, but I know you, I trust you. Even if you don’t trust me.”

Her heart stops, perhaps for a moment.

“I usually do,” she answers, under her breath. “Trust you. Except when you decide to be an irresponsible idiot and get lost inside a snowstorm.”

“Come back here while you yell at me,” he invites, not missing a beat, opening his arm. “You’re shivering.”

She glances at him, stares, really, but she is cold, so – she will indulge him, just this once. Just because she gifted him the heat from her body, and it will take a few hours before she gains it again. “You stole from me, you know,” she murmurs, reluctantly letting him surround her again, his arms a surprisingly nice refuge. “I had to give up part of my heat to save you. Thief.”

“You know, technically, you can’t steal something that’s been given to you,” he reasons, the moron, to which Regina clicks her tongue and huffs. “But, I’m grateful. You surely did go to great lengths to make sure this thief stayed alive.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she answers, cuts, her gaze steady on the fireplace. “Did it for Roland. And right now you’re making yourself useful. For a thief, that is.”

“Well how kind of you, your Majesty.”

“Don’t tell anyone of this. Or I’ll strongly reconsider my choice of coming after you to save you.”

“Won’t tell a soul,” he murmurs against her hair – she can feel the low rumble of his chest as he suppresses a laugh, but for now, she hasn’t got the energy to care, or even to answer with a witty remark. It will do, if she just closes her eyes for a moment, and falls down to sleep. It will do… if she forgets he’s her soulmate, and doesn’t dream of the what could have been.

He must be asleep when she finally surrenders to the peace of her mind, but right before she closes her eyes for good, the little flame of blue heat pops up her fingertips again.

_What and if are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together, side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: what if?_

_._

_Should we?_


End file.
